


I still hate you (I'm yours)

by tallycravens



Series: Motherland: Fort Salem Oneshots [5]
Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25382548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tallycravens/pseuds/tallycravens
Summary: While at a High Atlantic party, Abigail & Libba learn there's a thin line between hate & desire.
Relationships: Abigail Bellweather/Libba Swythe
Series: Motherland: Fort Salem Oneshots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868044
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	I still hate you (I'm yours)

It comes as no surprise, running into her here at a High Atlantic party, and at least now she knows that tonight won’t be boring. Trading insults with Abigail Bellweather is one of Libba’s favorite pastimes. Like most of these social gatherings, there is no shortage of fancy food and champagne. Libba snags a champagne flute and does one sweep of the room, politely interacting with a few peers and family friends. As she approaches the waiter to grab another drink, she is suddenly face-to-face with Abigail, who looks none too happy to see her.

“I was wondering when I would run into you,” Libba murmurs as she takes another sip of champagne, realizing that she’s long lost count of how many glasses she’s had.

Abigail rolls her eyes, popping a lobster amuse bouche into her mouth. She swallows, chasing the hor d’oeuvre with champagne as Libba drains her own glass. “I _was_ hoping to avoid you all night. But this party has grown tedious. You’re a lot of things, but at least you’re never boring.” 

It’s almost a compliment and Libba nearly smiles. “I agree. Every one of these is exactly the same. Rubbing elbows with the elite,” She rolls her eyes and puts down her now empty glass. “It’s a pity. I’ve run out of interesting stories to tell.”

“Maybe you should slow down there, Swythe,” Libba’s surname rolls off of her tongue with ease as Abigail leans in closer. “We both know you’re a lightweight.”

Libba chuckles mirthfully. “Maybe you should get on my level, Bedwetter. Unless you’re afraid that you’ll end up doing something you’ll regret?” The challenge is issued without much thought and predictably, Abigail takes the bait. She can never say no to a competition. 

“Have you seen the upstairs?” Abigail asks out of the blue after shooting two glasses of champagne. She licks the alcohol off of her lips and Libba’s eyes linger on her a moment too long, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “We should go check it out.”

Truth be told, Libba knows it’s a terrible idea, but she has nothing better to do. Maybe she’ll get a good story out of it. Besides, she is more than a little bit curious about the Lovejoys, their illustrious hosts. They are friends of her mother’s and seem to hold things close to the vest. There has to be some secrets to be found.

“Let’s do it,” She agrees against her better judgment and Abigail chuckles in a low tone. Libba can tell she’s feeling buzzed because her voice has gone an octave or two lower.

She grabs Libba’s hand and pulls her through throngs of party guests and toward the winding staircase, her hold on her tight as she tugs her upward. After they ascend and reach the final step, she releases her hand, Libba’s bones aching from the force she’d exerted on her fingers. 

“Your shoes are hideous, by the way,” Abigail throws an insult her way as she leads them into a well furnished study, the walls lined with bookshelves filled with large tomes. There’s no mistaking the wealth in this room and Libba breathes in, reveling in the scent of old books.

Libba shrugs her shoulders, dragging her finger along the edge of the wooden desk. “Yeah, well, your hair looks like shit.”

“That’s a lie,” Abigail chuckles, leaning against the desk and lifting her brows at her challengingly. “A weak insult, too.”

Libba crosses her arms to her chest as she turns toward the other girl. “Like your comment about my shoes was _oh so devastating_?”

She huffs. “I’m off my game. It’s the champagne.” Her attempt to blame it on the alcohol comes as no surprise to Libba, who bites her lip as she gazes at her.

“Is it?” Libba murmurs, approaching her with confidence, her eyes locked onto Abigail’s. “Because I’m thinking you’ve realized that there’s no one you’d rather be spending your time with tonight than me.”

“Yeah, right,” she answers with a roll of her eyes, but when Libba stops right in front of her, she sees her face falter. “What are you doing?” Abigail asks, her voice going sharp.

“What do you think?” Libba counters, one hand placed on either of her sides, effectively pinning her against the desk. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

A slow smirk comes to her lips and she leans down, lessening the distance between them. Libba’s heart is racing as her suspicions are confirmed, trying to prepare herself for her kiss. She can’t help the little yelp she lets out when Abigail unexpectedly seizes her and swiftly deposits her on the edge of the desk. 

Now eye to eye, Abigail is looking at Libba like she’s prey. She knows this look. She’s been on the receiving end of it many times, but usually when she’s looking at her like this, it means she’s about to hand Libba her ass.

Dark eyes widen in shock when Abigail grabs her by the throat. At first, she nearly panics, thinking she’s going to choke her, but she steps in between her legs and gives her a bruising kiss, releasing her hold on her throat in the next moment. Her kisses are like fire, lips hot against Libba’s as her fingers tangle in her hair, tugging mercilessly at her curls. She can’t help the moan that escapes her mouth, though it’s mostly muffled against hers. It comes as no surprise that Abigail is a dominant partner. She has an independent streak a mile wide and she doesn’t like to share. Libba is more than happy to hand over the reins in this instance, because the way she feels against her is something she won’t soon forget.

She untangles one hand from Libba’s hair and she can feel her nails digging into her back. In the next moment, she’s hiking up Libba’s dress and her breath quickens as Abigail’s fingers slip beneath the band of her panties. She thanks the Goddess that she wore sexy undergarments tonight, just in case. Libba would have never imagined tonight would lead to this. It isn’t just the champagne. She thinks they both know that. This back and forth, push and pull they’ve had going for the past several years has come to a head. There’s a thin line between hate and desire. They’re crossing that line now.

Her fingers are anything but gentle as they slam into Libba, staccato breaths leaving her lips. Her mouth has moved from Libba’s lips to her neck and she’s biting her hard, making her cry out in pleasure and pain. It’s shameful how quickly Libba is approaching her release. She’s never had anyone touch her like Abigail does, and she is thrilled to discover how much this works for her. Libba has always considered herself to be an assertive person with a dominant personality, but somehow she doesn’t mind giving up control to Abigail. Normally they’re at each other’s throats, constantly trying to one up each other, but right now all Libba wants is for Abigail to completely annihilate her.

Libba’s hands grab onto the edge of the desk in a misguided attempt to steady herself. She should know better, her head is swimming and that tells her one thing - she’s nearly there. Abigail has made quick work of her, her dark eyes burning into Libba’s as she watches her come for her. She withdraws her fingers a moment later, licking them clean without breaking eye contact. There is no mistaking what she wants as she practically throws Libba off of the desk and takes her place, hiking up her dress and tugging down her panties.

She glares at Libba expectantly and she’s still in shock, having not recovered from her rather recent orgasm. But there is no denying Abigail Bellweather anything she wants, so she’s quickly positioning herself between her legs, hands gripping at the desk as she eagerly tastes her. She reacts by squeezing her thighs tightly against Libba’s head, muscles firm and holding her there. Libba loves the way she feels against her tongue and she laps at her with apparent enthusiasm, overwhelmed by her desire to make Abigail feel powerful and wanted.

“Libba,” her name slips out from between Abigail’s parted lips in a broken cry. It’s never sounded better.

Libba looks up at her as best she can from this angle, watching her chest rise and fall with every shaky breath she takes. She’s memorizing the taste of her on her tongue, just in case she never gets the chance to do this again. This night alone is going to provide her with a lot of fantasy fodder. She’d be lying if she said she’d never thought about fucking Abigail before.

She decides to give Abigail a little more as her mouth closes around her swollen bud. Two fingers sink easily into her and she groans, rolling her hips desperately against Libba. Abigail needs this just as badly as she does, Libba realizes as she listens to her whimper. She still can’t quite believe this is happening. She refuses to let up, because there is no way she’s going to let Abigail Bellweather down. If anything, she wants this to be a night Abigail will never forget.

She realizes Abigail is well on her way when she grows uncharacteristically quiet. She’s never known Abigail to be quiet, and it’s the first time since touching her that she hasn’t made some kind of sound. The muscles in her legs tighten and Libba is grateful when they quickly release her because it was really beginning to hurt. Not that she would ever complain. Not about this.

As she struggles to catch her breath, Libba gets to her feet and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Abigail looks up at her then, muttering, _“I still hate you, by the way.”_

Libba can’t help but laugh. “I hate you, too, Bellweather,” She promises, furrowing her brow when she sees a strange expression on her face. “What?”

“I mutilated your neck…” The confession doesn’t faze her.

She seems apologetic, and while it’s true that Libba’s neck does feel sore, along with her back, which is stinging from the scratches she’s left, she doesn’t care. She likes it. She wants Abigail to claim her, mark her as hers, and as she gazes into her eyes, Libba realizes that maybe she’s never really hated her. Maybe _this_ is what it’s always been.

“I don’t mind,” Libba smirks, leaning down to grab Abigail’s panties and pull them back up onto her body, her nails digging into her thighs. “I want to do this again,” it’s a bold thing to say, a big risk to take, but not having this again feels worse. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“We could always check out the bedroom,” Abigail replies suggestively, grinning like a devil before she pushes herself off of the edge of the desk.

She didn’t say no.

They do some more exploring, finding the linen closet and several bedrooms. Nothing as interesting as what they’d rather do.

Abigail decides to pull Libba into the master bedroom. The bed is large, adorned with a lavish bedspread which appears to be made of silk. She closes the door as Libba takes off admittedly hideous shoes and climbs up onto the bed. Abigail opens the drawer on the bedside table and pulls out a lighter, carefully lighting the candle that sits there. Nothing wrong with a little ambiance, though it makes this feel more than casual.

“Take off your dress,” Abigail commands sharply and Libba is powerless to deny her.

She dutifully discards her dress on the floor, hoping it doesn’t get wrinkled in the time it will lay there. 

“Good girl,” Abigail purrs, the words sending a shiver down Libba’s spine. The praise catches her off guard and she’s shocked to discover how good it feels to hear Abigail speak to her in this way. She peels off her dress and Libba’s eyes linger on her muscular form as she removes her undergarments. Libba scrambles to immediately do the same, just dropping her panties when Abigail climbs on top of her, pinning her to the bed.

She feels heavy on top of Libba, not because of her weight but because of the pressure, which she’s sure is completely intentional. Abigail’s kiss is harsh, her tongue slipping into her mouth and Libba moans as her knee presses into her unexpectedly. Abigail grabs her by the hair and tilts her head back, running her tongue along her jaw and nipping at her earlobe.

“You’re mine, Swythe,” she hisses, her teeth dragging along her neck. “Say it,” she warns, her hands drifting over Libba’s breasts and making her chest swell. 

“I’m yours.”

Abigail squeezes Libba’s breasts roughly. “Again.”

_“I’m yours, Bellweather,”_ She pants, trembling beneath her touch as Abigail’s knee grinds into her. “I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours. Please.”

Abigail appears to be satisfied with that, kissing her way down Libba’s body. She can’t help but watch her descent as her lips trail downward, pressing kisses to her inner thighs and making Libba quiver in anticipation. Thankfully, she doesn’t tease her for too long and her mouth melts against her. Libba’s hips roll against her and she moans, threading her fingers through Abigail’s hair. This has got to be the best night of her life.

It doesn’t take too much longer for Abigail to coax an orgasm out of Libba, leaving her panting and sweaty. She mops her brow with the back of her hand and catches Abigail’s gaze. She’s smirking, clearly pleased with her handiwork. She grabs Libba’s hands and pins her against the bed, passionately bringing their lips together. 

This feels much more intimate than before. It doesn’t feel like a one time thing. 

Maybe these weekly parties are about to become a _lot_ more interesting.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
